A Voice So Silent Beneath the Noise
by incoherent-wraith
Summary: Strangled by her family's oppressive views, Ginny is left with stunted skills of expression and identity, leading her towards darker, more suiting paths. A prologue to Eloquently Jaded. Contains selfmutillation


The Common Room was hot, even at such a late hour. All of the windows were pushed open, each displaying a different view of the clear night sky, which was marred only by a few stray clouds. The castle grounds shone in the moonlight, the trees casting elongated shadows onto the grass.

People lay sprawled out on couches of various sizes, textures and shades of red; all talking excitedly.

It made her sick; the casual words exchanged between these people. Friends and their confident, 'I love you's'. A promise made, broken. It all meant nothing.

_Your word is your bond_- she firmly believed that, though the advice had been given by a friend who had violated those pledges to her four times over. How strong could one be if their words fell meaningless to her ears? She knew how it felt, though she, rather, was bound to her silence.

_We all had our heads in the sand, _she mused, _until I pulled mine out and found you all looking at me, ass first. _Charlie would tell her she was cynical, as if he had any idea what that entailed.

Parvati sat next to her, legs crossed, talking animatedly. She was gesturing boldly with both hands, sharing an occasional squeal over whichever boy she had taken a fancy to. Ginny let the words wash over her, tried to force a smile in the right place. Each rise and fall in Parvati's voice grated into her like a rusty saw.

How she longed to travel through her life alone; to stand tall and individually, and to be free of the burden of conscience it seemed to throw over her. For now, she was forced into the presence of the world, and the world was forced to endure hers. The withered look that Parvati shot Lavender when she thought Ginny wasn't looking was sure proof of that. Ginny twiddled her thumbs as she waited for Parvati to refocus her attention, before flashing a shy smile and telling her that she needed to finish a Charms essay before the library closed.

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Leaning against the smooth, tiled wall of the toilet cubicle, Ginny drew her wand from her pocket and held it cautiously in her left hand. Her robe dropped to the floor in a pool of black. Even as it fell, she began to unbutton her jeans. Sliding down, back pressed against the wall, she came to rest on her haunches and let out a slow, shuddering breath.

So it had come to this. If only she had seen this escape before; perhaps her personality would not be as stunted. Was it possible; her only saviour, mixed in with her own demise? Though, in moderation, she reasoned, there would be no loss on her part. As frightened as she was, she guessed her persistence might be her downfall one day, but not today.

She pressed the wand tentatively to the pale skin of her upper thigh, and whispered the incantation under her breath. A sudden gasp escaped her dry lips, as a tear appeared on the soft flesh at the tip of her poised wand.

Carefully, she pulled her wand slightly to the left, deepening the wound. She watched for a few moments as blood blossomed from the neat slit, as it filled to the brim, and trickled slowly to the floor. The drips of blood seemed unnaturally loud in the empty bathroom, as it echoed with each falling droplet. Distracted by the steady transfer of blood from her leg to the floor, she let her fingers play idly in the crimson liquid; painting crude, indecipherable shapes against the pure white tiles.

A portion of her shame subsided then, and in its place was the cruel focus of pain, blood, and sound of it dripping to the floor. She was alone here, and in her splendid isolation, free from all stigmas, stereotypes, and the vacuum of her identity. Her family had lovingly provided all three before; muggle lovers, the lot of them. She would be drowned in the same pool as they were; of course they had all assumed she felt the same. Her voice had been crushed under the weight of her family's ideals; they had left no room for her own.

Getting bolder, she drew her wand across the unmarred flesh in a flourish, creating an almost snakelike cut along the side of her leg. The metallic taste reached her tongue at last, as she bit her bottom lip. Slowly, her mouth turned upwards to form a grim smile of satisfaction.

The feeling was euphoric. The final solution to all her blurry thoughts, to her carnival of feelings; all blended together and sharpened to the finest point. Confusion, then, was a foreign concept. All she knew, -and all, it seemed, she had ever known- was a blissful rebirth. She held all the power that she needed in her shaking hands. This control was different from any she had experienced; it was hers and hers alone.

She pushed herself to her feet on the palms of her hands, and wavered there; until, light-headed, she fell again to the floor. There was no one to see her fall now, though she half expected mocking laughter to echo off the ceramic walls. She pricked her ears, absorbing the soft wind blowing from an open window. Nothing else but silence.

"_I'll just wait here until the bleeding stops…"_ She thought contentedly, _"It shouldn't be long now, anyway." _

From somewhere else in the bathroom, she heard the mournful cry of Moaning Myrtle; a shrill, desperate noise that invaded her ears to the point of bursting.


End file.
